


Battle Royale

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Schmoop, Season/Series 06, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oops? Dawn backs up, realizes the counter is directly behind her, and then takes a careful side step towards the back door. "It's not my fault!" she protests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Royale

The bowl has a dent on the bottom of it. Dawn's not sure if it's the bottom left or bottom right since there's no handle to offer a point of reference. She knows how that dent was made; she was there for it, actually there, which is something Dawn has come to value. Lots of things happened in her life because crazy Monks with a really bizarre version of what a normal childhood should be like decided those things should happen. Dawn's own choices, her _real_ memories, are more valuable simply because she has so few of them.

This dent came from Xander scaring the _crap_ out of her one afternoon, popping up behind her and making her drop it. He'd offered to beat it out, but Dawn always thought that sounded vaguely dirty somehow and besides. The dent didn't cause _problems_. It just was.

"Are you sure you don't want me to add anything else?"

Dawn puts the bowl back on the counter so she can look over her shoulder. She's learned the folly of trying both at once, thanks; this isn't the only bowl with dents in it. Buffy is sitting warm and loose in the afternoon sun, peering into her own bowl. Hers is glass, though. It doesn't dent.

"No, this is fine."

"You sure?" Buffy persists, one eyebrow up in consternation. "No weird flavors like, um. Toffee?"

"We don't have toffee. And that's not a weird flavor, they make toffee chips."

"Okay, weird like jalapeño, then." She's grinning impishly, and there's flour on her nose. It makes her look all of ten years old, which Dawn decides is a really, really good look for her. "Or -- oo, how about tomato. Wanna make chocolate-chip-and-tomato cookies? We could probably find some cheese..."

Dawn laughs, gathering up the discarded five-pound-bag wrapper that used to hold sugar and throwing it at Buffy. It's too unwieldy to be caught and Buffy ends up getting a face-full of sugar granules.

Oops? Dawn backs up, realizes the counter is directly behind her, and then takes a careful side step towards the back door. "It's not my fault!" she protests. "It isn't! You were the one thinking of pizza cookies, and it was my duty -- no, my _destiny_ to retaliate!"

Buffy wipes her face slowly. "Oh, sister-mine," she says. It's been a long time since she's had that manic look of glee in her eyes. It's exhilarating to see again, even if it is kind of terrifying at the same time. A manic Buffy is usually a Buffy that terrorizes her only sister. "You are so gonna get it now."

"Nooo!" Dawn wails, giving up the pretense and scrambling for the door. "You're the one who wanted chocolate-chip-and-tomato!" she cries as something bounces harmlessly off her head. She thinks it's styrofoam from... somewhere.

" _You're_ the one that has the weird food-experiment thingie!" Buffy calls back. She's gathering more ammunition if the sounds of things dropping and smooshing together is accurate.

Buffy's aim is always _really good_.

Dawn escapes outside.

"That's not going to save you!" comes through the half-open door.

Dawn ignores it, scrambling for the garbage bag that didn't get closed all the way and the nice dry, papery goods that lay on top. She squeaks when Buffy comes out of the door, carrying her own personal artillery of potential weapons, with flour streaked up over one eye like some kind of weird Native American art and so gleefully _happy_ that for a second, Dawn feels her throat get tight and her eyes sting. Maybe she finally has her sister back, _really_ back.

Then Buffy sees her and launches the first missile.

"OH!" Dawn shouts, flicked with unexpected water as well as the discarded flour wrapper. Now _she's_ covered by flour and this? This is _war_.

"I bet I have Slayer aim!"

"I bet you don't, not-a-Slayer." Buffy's moving sedately, since she's the predator in this game and she knows it.

Dawn hides behind a thankfully non-stinky garbage can before lobbing. "Yeah, but I bet I -- ha! I _so do_!"

"Oh, that is it, Dawn. Prepare for the apocalypse of smackdowns!"

Laughing too hard to shriek, Dawn spares a sad thought for the chocolate-chip-peanut-butter-and-cinnamon-cookies which won't be ready when they're done, since they'll have to go back and make them, but it's a faint thought.

And it vanishes all together when Buffy tackles her, twisting so that they fall down harmlessly, rolling around and laughing too hard to do anything but cling to each other.


End file.
